The Great Art Con
by Kittystitch
Summary: While making their escape from France after a successful mission, the team accidentally stumbles across what will become their next mission — one Actor takes a personal interest in. This story references my earlier pieces, "What the Heart Wants" and "Der Zigarettenanzünder".
1. Chapter 1

**The Great Art Con**

The gunfire in the distance was sporadic now, just the Germans shooting at shadows. Garrison touched Chief on the shoulder and motioned him forward. Without a sound, the Indian rose from his crouch and melted into the thick fog and darkness of the alley. At his touch, Goniff followed Chief. Then Actor. Chief and Goniff had always been able to move silently. Casino and Actor had learned.

When he touched Casino's arm, his hand came away sticky-wet. Blood. Casino was hit. But the safe cracker had already disappeared into the darkness, following the others. Garrison gathered a breath. As he rose and hurried into the alley after his team, he hoped to God it wasn't serious, because they weren't going to have a chance to deal with it any time soon.

Dressed in black, their faces smeared with mud, they were practically invisible in the moonless night, just a formless dark mass where Chief had brought them to a stop behind a warehouse. Garrison crouched next to them, and Chief pointed up at a partially open window. Garrison heard what had brought Chief up short — German voices inside, and flashlight beams sweeping the interior. Patrols were already scouring the wharf, searching for them. When he listened carefully, he could hear the fog-muffled shouts of others in the distance, closing in.

A beam flashed out through the window, flaring into the fog. Instinctively they all slid into the shadows, taking what cover they could against the wall, behind discarded crates and a rotting dingy. Garrison held his breath as the beam did its best to illuminate the alley. It turned downward to shine on the spot they'd just vacated, then angled left and right, coming within inches of his foot. After a second sweep of the beam, the Kraut with the flashlight turned away and shouted for his comrades to follow him on to the next warehouse.

Garrison sat motionless, listening to the patrol move on, and he thought about the explosions — one right after another — that had shaken the ground, flashed the black night into blinding light, and sent flames and debris hundreds of feet into the air. They'd just blown up three docks of the Germans' newest submarine base at La Havre, and damaged at least that many U-boats. The Nazis probably didn't have the resources to rebuild it anytime soon. It was only an unlucky twist of fate that had gotten them discovered as they'd made their getaway, and only the blessing of the moonless night and the dense fog that had allowed them to escape. Their missions almost always hinged on luck, but when it wasn't on their side, this team — his team — had the skill, training and daring to turn it around and make it work. That was the true reason they were all still alive and doing this job.

When he was satisfied that the patrol was out of earshot, Garrison motioned them all back under the window and indicated that he wanted them to climb in. Actor easily hoisted himself up and through, as did Goniff. When Casino tried, his left arm gave out and he fell awkwardly back to the ground. Chief was instantly at his side, locking his fingers together to give Casino the lift he needed to get through the window. Chief was up and through in one fluid motion, and Garrison followed.

Inside the cavernous space, the odors of gasoline and dead fish clung to the still air. He joined the guys where they sheltered behind a row of wooden casks, and he stooped down beside Casino, who was breathing hard. Even in the near-total darkness, he could see that Casino was clutching his left arm to his side, but his casual shrug and half smile told Garrison he was okay for the moment.

While his own breathing slowed, Garrison considered their next move. They couldn't stay here. This warehouse had already been searched, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't be searched again. And trying to get out of La Havre to find Emil and radio for the sub was too risky now, with German patrols swarming the area. They needed to disappear.

The sound of a boat's rigging creaked nearby, and he realized they were close to the water. He snapped his fingers softly to get the guys' attention, then motioned that they should stay put while he went to investigate. There was barely enough light to let him move among the stacks of crates and rows of shelving without tripping over something. When he reached the far side, he felt his way along the wall until he found a door and its latch. He tried to time the sound of the hinges squeaking open to the rattle of the rigging.

Twenty yards away across the wharf, a light from inside the pilothouse of a fishing boat glowed in an eerie halo, rocking with the boat on the gentle tide. It silhouetted four German soldiers disembarking down the gangplank— probably the same squad who'd searched the warehouse. Their words were too indistinct to understand, but they headed east, following their flashlight beams away from the docks.

This was going to be tricky, but it might be their only chance. In less than an hour, the sun would be up and burning off the fog. Garrison went back to gather his team and led the way through the maze of the warehouse, then out across the wharf, to where the boat was moored. If any of them questioned what he was doing, no one spoke up. The need for silence evidently outweighed any misgivings they might have had about the wisdom of his plan. But if things went sideways, he knew he'd hear about it.

As they climbed the gangplank at midship, Garrison pointed first left and then right, and his men understood the silent commands. Actor and Goniff headed aft while Casino and Chief peeled off toward the bow. Garrison eased quietly into the pilothouse. The boat's captain, dressed ready for a day on the Channel, puffed on a cigarette as he studied the charts in front of him. When the man sensed he wasn't alone, he turned casually, as if he were expecting someone. He started to say something, until he looked up to find a gun pointed at his head.

"J'ai besoin de votre bateau," Garrison told him, then repeated it in English, so the guy understood exactly who he was dealing with. "I need your boat."

"My boat, Monsieur, it is not worth much," the sailor stammered, wide-eyed. "It is old, it does not run well…"

"I'm sure it runs just fine." Garrison shoved him toward the control console, keeping the gun pointed at his temple. He took in the instrumentation with a quick glance. It all looked pretty standard, and if the fuel gauge was accurate, the tank was full. But it wouldn't hurt to keep the captain around for good measure. And to keep him from running to the Krauts.

Chief and Casino were the first to show up back at the pilothouse door. "Nobody up front," Chief reported.

Actor and Goniff crossed the deck and appeared behind Casino. "There's no one aft or below, either," Actor told him. "There is some interesting cargo, though."

"We'll worry about that later." Garrison snatched the tattered black watch cap from the captain's head, then gestured at him with his gun. "Take off the slicker."

When the captain had done as he was told, Garrison slipped it on over his own jacket and smiled at the man. "I promise I'll try not to hurt your boat. What's your name?"

"Maurice, Monsieur. Maurice LeGrande."

"What's the name of your boat?"

"Esmerelda, Monsieur."

"Nice name. I like it." Garrison tugged on the watch cap and turned to his men. "Tie him up and keep him quiet. Then cast off the lines and get out of sight while I maneuver us out of here."

While Actor and Casino went on deck to untie the lines, Goniff found a length of rope in a bucket of rusty tools and began binding the captains hands behind him. From the same bucket, Chief snatched up an oil-stained rag and used it as a gag. Together they pushed the sailor to the deck to sit below the pilothouse windows, next to the helm.

"Okay, we cut 'er loose." Casino stood in the cabin doorway, still holding his arm tight against his side. "You sure you know how to drive this thing?"

"Well enough," Garrison shrugged, studying the controls more closely. This wasn't much like any of the pleasure boats he'd piloted, and the English Channel certainly wasn't the Hudson River. But he had no other choice. He turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. "Now get down, out of sight."

Turning the wheel, getting the feel of the rudder, Garrison gently maneuvered the good ship Esmerelda away from her berth and into the harbor, dearly hoping that they didn't look too suspicious heading out before dawn on a fogged-in morning. If their luck held, they'd be well out into the Channel before the Germans could launch search vessels from the damaged submarine base.

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The fog had not burned off. By midday, they'd reached the middle of the Channel, and Garrison still couldn't see ten yards in front of him. They were lucky they hadn't encountered any patrols. Or run into anything. And even luckier that no one seemed to be pursuing them.

He finally pulled his eyes away from the compass and fuel gage and turned his attention to the crowded pilothouse. The captain still sat bound and gagged on the deck next to the helm. Chief sat opposite him with a gun trained at the man's chest. Next to Chief, Casino slumped, his head resting on his knees.

"How's the arm?"

Casino raised his head. "Hurts like hell," he griped, but then added, "It's okay. Just a scratch."

Garrison looked to Actor, who stood in the doorway with an automatic weapon held loosely at his side. Earlier, the conman had cleaned and bandaged Casino's wound using the sparse supplies in the boat's medical kit. Actor nodded a reassuring confirmation, then added, "Would you like me to take over the helm for a while?"

The fuel gage said they still had plenty of gas, but he didn't want to risk wasting any of it. He killed the engine. "No, go drop the anchor. I'm going to radio London and give them our coordinates."

"Do you think that is wise?"

"We should be far enough from the coast to take a chance."

"But do you _know_ our coordinates?"

Garrison smiled at his conman. "More or less."

Actor accepted that with a shrug and went out on deck to do as he was asked.

Goniff was curled into the corner next to the door, facing the wall. Garrison gave him a nudge with his foot. "Wake up, sleepy-head. Nap time's over."

Goniff yawned and turned over. "Where are we? Are we home yet?"

"Not yet. Relieve Chief."

Groaning and stretching, Goniff scooted over to where Chief was sitting and took the pistol from him, waving it at their prisoner. "He don't look so dangerous, now does he?"

Chief pushed to his feet and came to stand at his shoulder as Garrison turned to the radio. "Go below and see if there's anything to eat," he told his scout. "We're probably going to be here for a while."

With a silent nod, Chief headed out of the pilothouse toward the aft hatch.

By the time Garrison had composed and sent a coded message to London, Actor and Chief had returned with a jug of fresh water, some tins of sardines, two cans of beans, and a can opener. Garrison frowned. "That's it?"

"Some rotten fish, too, if you're interested," Chief suggested.

"I think you should come see what else we found in the hold." Actor smiled down at their prisoner. "It seems our intrepid seaman is hauling in more than just flounder."

Garrison followed Actor across the deck to the stern hatch. They needed a flashlight to maneuver down the narrow ladder into the cramped bowels of the boat. Actor trained the beam past a tangle of fishing nets and lobster pots to the far right corner, where a stack of narrow wooden packing crates leaned upright against the bulkhead. "Those did not look like barrels of fish to me."

Garrison held the flashlight while Actor navigated his way around the clutter of gear and removed the top from the first crate. Out of it he lifted a framed painting. The beam illuminated a colorful canvas of reds, blues and yellows splashed across a background of multiple shades of green, looking like a field of summer flowers seen through a rain-streaked window. Garrison raised a questioning eyebrow at his conman and art expert.

"I would have to study it more closely to be certain, but I believe it is a Monet. Possibly one of his special commissions from his Giverny period. Most of them are held in private hands. Or they were until the Nazis became connoisseurs of fine art."

Garrison couldn't think of one good reason why a French fisherman would be transporting valuable artwork. "Let's go have a little talk with Captain LaGrande."

Back up in the pilothouse, Garrison had Chief remove the captain's oily gag. "That's an interesting cargo you're hauling, Maurice. Why don't you tell me about it?"

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The painting was still in its crate, leaning against the wall in the map room. Such a beautiful work of art should never be hidden. Actor couldn't resist freeing it from its wooden prison to let its color and light brighten the drab room. It begged to be displayed. Glancing around, he quickly singled out the old painting he'd always hated — the ugly, crudely executed portrait of a brooding Elizabethan matron. He lifted it from its hook and shoved it aside, face to the wall, then reverently hung Monet's garden in its place, straightening it just so. He would never know how Monet could make it seem as if the flowers glowed with shimmering sunlight, but he never tired of losing himself among those flowers.

"Don't get attached. It's not staying." Garrison strode past him and circled to the end of the conference table.

"What a pity. It is certainly an improvement over the owner's taste in art."

"The art historian in London verified it's a genuine Monet."

"Did I not tell you that?" Actor leaned in closer to study the detail, a little offended that the powers that be had not accepted his appraisal. "Even the best forgers have never been able to duplicate these brush strokes. They are unique, very delicate. See here how they curve out and just slightly upward…"

"I'm sure they're exquisite," Garrison interrupted. "When we're done with it, it goes into storage until its rightful owner is found."

Actor turned to face his commander, a bit puzzled. And concerned. "When we're done with it? What are we going to do with it?"

"It's our leverage into the smuggling ring."

The other three weren't far behind Garrison, heading to their usual seats around the table. Casino was the first to notice the new art. "Hey, it's about time we did a little redecorating around here. That old broad always gave me the creeps. What we really need are a few nudes."

"I'll second that, mate." Goniff slid into his chair and lit a cigarette. "And I don't mean no paintings neither."

That got a chuckle out of Casino.

"Settle down and listen up," Garrison commanded. "That painting is the key to our mission. We've stumbled onto a smuggling ring, and we've been assigned to shut it down."

Actor pulled himself away from Monet's garden and took his own seat at the table. "I take it our seaman friend has spilled his guts?"

"And then some. He's just a small cog in a bigger Nazi machine that's helping fund their war effort by selling confiscated art work. His job is transporting the art across the Channel to a contact who then delivers them to a wealthy patron. While LeGrande gets a small fee for his efforts, the real money is deposited into an anonymous Swiss bank account."

"Why can't they just go arrest Daddy Warbucks?" Casino wanted to know.

"LeGrande couldn't give us any names. He only deals with a middle man — a guy who calls himself 'The Pirate'. There's a hand-off scheduled for this Friday night at a waterfront bar in London." Garrison came to stand next to Actor and laid a hand on his conman's shoulder. "Only this time, Maurice is bringing with him the Italian who has a special piece to sell."

All eyes turned to Actor. Garrison gave him a wry smile. "Surely you already have a persona that fits the bill."

Actor returned his commander's smile. "Several, actually."

"I thought so. Our mission is to take the guy down and find out what he's been doing with the art."

Actor tapped his pipe on the table, his mind already running through the con, looking for the loop holes. "I would assume that our anonymous buyer already knows his regular supplier. Dealers in stolen art tend to operate in very tight circles. But whoever he is, he should also know of Vittorio Fabretti." Actor straightened in his chair and adjusted the cravat at the neck of his fatigue shirt. "He is the distinguished purveyor of some of the most valuable works on the European black market."

That prompted a slight bow from Garrison. "Signore Fabretti, I presume."

Actor graciously returned the bow.

Garrison went back to the head of the table and turned serious again. "Even with Signore Fabretti's unimpeachable reputation, these guys are going to be suspicious of any change in the routine. You'll have to work the con so that you won't raise too many red flags."

"No need to worry, Warden. Signore Fabretti can be very persuasive."

Goniff stood up, crushed out his cigarette, and started for the door. "Well, that all sounds very interesting, Actor. Good luck, mate, and have fun."

"Sit!"

At Garrison's command, Goniff stopped short and slunk back to his chair. "Well Actor's the conman. Waddaya need us for?"

"We need to be there to watch his back. This is a lot more dangerous than it sounds, especially with so much money at stake." He glanced at his watch. "We'll head into London in a couple of hours."

"We'd better be stayin' in the barracks this time," Casino grumbled, remembering one of their more recent stays at HQ. "'Cause I ain't spendin' another night in that brig."

"We'll be staying in a…ah, hotel," Garrison replied. "Not far from the bar."

"Beautiful. A waterfront flea bag," Casino snorted. "Well, anything's better than a cell."


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Chief closed the door behind them, everyone in the barroom turned to look at them. The blank stares of half a dozen old men lingered on them for a long beat before they went back to staring into their beers. Only the bartender acknowledged Captain LeGrande with a half-nod.

This early on a Thursday afternoon, the pub was practically empty except for the geezers and the bartender. A rusty anchor hung behind the bar, and ratty fishing nets drooped along the walls. Some oil lamps and candle stubs for mood lighting were the only other frills. A waterfront dive that could've been in any port city in the world, Chief mused.

As Goniff headed to the bar with Captain LaGrande to pick up a round of drinks, Chief joined Garrison at a table against the wall at the opposite end of the room. "We stick out like sore thumbs," he muttered.

"That's why we brought LaGrande." Garrison took a seat on the bench on the far side of the table, with his back against the wall. He lit a cigarette and took a drag, adding a puff of his own smoke to the existing haze. "He's our cover. He'll introduce us as his new crew."

As Chief settled onto the bench next to Garrison, Goniff and LeGrande returned and set four mugs on the table, slopping foam onto the already grimy surface. Goniff pulled up one of the barrels that doubled as a chair and sat where he could see the whole room. LeGrande found a barrel for himself and pushed it up to the other end of the table.

Chief took a tentative sip of his ale and it caught in his throat, making him cough - it tasted like they pumped it straight out of the Thames. That didn't seem to bother Goniff, who took a long draft and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "I don't see why Casino and Actor get to stay at The Savoy whilst we have to bunk in that rat hole down the street. It don't seem fair."

"All part of the con, Goniff." Garrison took a swallow of his own ale and grimaced, but then took another small sip. "Actor is the wealthy art dealer, Casino is his muscle. We're just fishermen trying to make a living."

"Still, it ain't fair. They're prob'ly relaxin' in the lounge right now, eatin' caviar and sippin' champagne."

Garrison smiled at him. "I thought you didn't like playing Actor's man servant."

"Yeah, well, it can have its advantages," Goniff sniffed, and finished off half of his glass.

Garrison turned to LeGrande. "Is the bartender in on the smuggling ring?"

LeGrande glanced back at the bar. "Percy? No. I believe he knows something is going on, but he chooses to ignore it."

"What about the others?"

Again, LeGrande looked around the hazy room. "No. I do not know any of them. The Pirate — the one I meet — he is a young man. He wears a patch on his right eye."

Garrison nodded and leaned back against the wall. Chief knew the Warden was subtly studying the room the same way he was. Where were the doors, and which lead outside? Who might be a threat, and who's concealing a weapon? Who would he have to fight, and who might be an ally? It was a habit for both of them, Chief realized. He'd developed it over years of needing to be constantly aware of his surroundings. The Warden had probably learned it later in life, but it was just as important a survival skill.

Besides the door they'd come in through, there was only one other, at the far end of the bar, which probably led back to storage areas and rooms for private activities, like card games. Or fencing hot art. The only person he considered a threat was the bartender, who'd been watching them.

When the door next to the bar swung open, the shaft of bright light that cut through the smoke caught his attention. A barmaid backed through, balancing a tray of clean mugs. As she set the tray down and began to store the glasses under the bar, it was her tangle of red hair that made him straighten out of his slouch.

Goniff had seen her too, and nudged his arm. "Hey, is that…?"

When she turned so that she was facing them, he was certain. He hadn't seen Hannah since she'd left her job at The Doves to come to London to take care of her wounded fiancé. He'd forced himself to stop thinking about her because he thought he'd never see her again.

Garrison noticed their reaction. "What is it?"

Goniff leaned across the table to whisper. "That's Hannah. She used to work at The Doves. She and Chiefy…"

The Warden turned his glare on Chief. "Your Hannah?"

"She ain't 'my' anything."

"But you know her."

Goniff grinned. "Yeah, he knows her."

Garrison regarded her silently for a moment as she went about her work, not yet aware of their presence. He finally asked, "What does she know about us?"

"Nothin'."

"Are you sure?"

"I never told her nothin'. But she ain't stupid, Warden. She probably guessed…"

"Can you trust her?"

"Yeah, I reckon…." There was never anything to trust her with. She was pretty and funny, warm and exciting, and a hell of a lay, but it wasn't like they'd ever talked about much, and he didn't know much else about her.

Garrison leaned forward and knocked the ash from his cigarette. "Okay, she could blow our whole mission. Or she could help establish our cover. Go talk to her."

"Now?"

"Now, before she recognizes you. Get her to play along. We're just old friends who knew her from her last job."

"I dunno, Warden, I don't wanna drag her in..."

"Go." Garrison gave him a push.

Chief slid off the bench and wiped his palms down his pants legs. He didn't know if he was nervous about seeing Hannah again or about having the whole mission depend on how he handled this. He pulled in a deep breath as he wound his way between the tables and approached her. "Hey..."

She looked up, shoving a stray curl out of her face, and her bright green eyes grew wide. "Chief...what are you doing here?"

The bartender was instantly wary, coming to her aid. "You know this bloke, Hannah?"

Chief realized he had to take charge before Hannah said too much. He nodded to the bartender — he would have offered a handshake if he hadn't been wearing his blade. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Clayton...Clay Garvey. Hannah used to work at the pub…near my old job."

"That so, Hannah?"

She'd quickly overcome her initial surprise and pulled herself together. "It's fine, Percy. He's an old friend. I just didn't expect..." She paused and wiped her hands on her apron. "It's been so long since I've seen...Clay..."

"I still need that new keg from the back," the man told her.

"Yes, of course. Clay, come help me..."

The bartender scowled after them as Hannah took Chief's hand and led him through the door into the back. When it clicked shut behind them, she turned and threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug. In spite of his better judgement, he held her against him, responding involuntarily to the scent of her hair, the feel of her against him, the warmth he hadn't realized he'd missed so badly.

It took every ounce of his willpower to finally push her away and make her look up at him. The sight of her face in the stark light of the back hallway startled him. Her black eye and the purple bruise on her chin were recent but starting to fade. He touched her cheek. "What happened?"

She giggled. "Oh, 'twas so silly! I banged right into a door. Weren't payin' a bit of attention…"

He took her hands and caught her stifling a wince. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, just clumsy is all…what are you doing here? And what's all this 'Clayton' silliness?"

He pushed his concern aside for the moment. "Listen, we got a caper goin' down here tomorrow night, and I need you to play along. Me and the others are just guys you used to know back at The Doves, that's all. Nothin' else."

Her eyes glistened as she grinned up at him. "I always knew you weren't just a workman at that Army base."

"I'll explain later. But it could get dicey. Just keep quiet and stay out of the way."

She sobered at the seriousness in his voice. "Sure, alright. If it's that important to you…"

As he stood there holding her hands, staring into those emerald eyes, the silence between them grew as thick as the smoke in the barroom. He finally let go of her hands, remembering the reason she'd left The Doves in the first place. "How's your fiancé doin'?"

"He's fine. Getting better everyday." Her eyes darted away, then down at the floor. "We put off the wedding until he's able to find some work…" She turned abruptly and rushed to the end of the short hall where the kegs of ale were stacked. "Percy's probably wondering what's keeping us…can you help me with this?"

Grateful for something to do, he hefted the wooden cask onto his shoulder and followed her back out to the bar. After he'd stowed it under the counter and attached the tap line, he got a curt nod of thanks from Percy.

Hannah laid a hand on his arm. "It really is good to see you again. Maybe we can talk later."

"Sure. I'll be around."

Chief went back to the table and slid onto the bench next to the Warden.

"Is she in?" Garrison asked.

"Yeah, she's good." Chief 's eyes followed Hannah as she returned to her chores.

"And you think we can trust her?"

"You already asked me that."

"I'm asking you again."

Chief tore his gaze away from Hannah's graceful figure and swallowed a mouthful of the bitter ale. "Don't worry about it. She won't be any trouble."

Garrison studied him for a brief moment, but evidently decided to believe him and turned his attention to the few other old fishermen scattered around the room. He finally emptied his mug and set it decisively on the table. "Goniff, let's play some darts. Maybe we can strike up a couple of new friendships."

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If he hadn't been humming along to Elgar on the BBC, Actor would have heard the connecting door between their two hotel rooms open. He thought he'd locked it, but then with Casino around, nothing could ever be effectively locked. He silently chided himself to be more cautious and finished adjusting the knot in his tie. He glanced at Casino behind him in the mirror. "You need to learn to knock."

"Just keepin' my skills sharp."

Casino cleaned up nicely and could be both charming and intimidating dressed in a well-tailored three piece suit. The role of bodyguard was one the safecracker took to adeptly, without over-playing it. Actor had to admit that he probably could have used someone like Casino back in the day. And Casino definitely enjoyed the fringe benefits. They'd been out most of the day visiting some of the galleries and gentlemen's clubs where Actor had once operated as Vittorio Fabretti before the war and before prison. To establish his cover, he'd wanted it known that Fabretti was back in town and back in the black market art business.

But now Casino had stripped out of all but his pants and t-shirt. He rubbed at the clean, white bandage wrapped around the wound on his left arm as he took in the extravagantly decorated hotel room. His eyes came to rest on the small canvas Actor had unrolled on the desk, its curling edges weighed down with a couple of ashtrays.

"What's this?" Casino pulled the painting from beneath its weights and studied it.

The jig was up, as the Americans would say. Actor knew he'd been careless to leave it out in the open, and now he would have to pay for that carelessness. He lifted his jacket from the back of the desk chair and slipped into it, turning to face Casino with a smile. "That is a small Picasso that I liberated from among Captain LaGrande's collection."

"The Warden let you do that?"

"I did not ask."

Casino's eyes narrowed as he realized what Actor was trying to pull off. "Hey, you ain't holdin' out on me, are ya?"

"I would not dream of it, my friend," Actor sighed and retrieved his walking stick from where it leaned against the dresser. He unscrewed the ornate gold knob from the top, and taking the painting from Casino, he rolled it up and slipped it down into the cane's hollow shaft. "However, if you wish to participate in this little side transaction, you'll need to dress and come with me."

"Where're we goin'?"

"We are dining this evening with Sir Reginald Cordray. He's a wealthy arms manufacturer and former client of mine. You should wear the red tie. And the small shoulder holster."

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When they'd first entered the dining room, only two places had been set at one end of a dining table long enough to land a plane on. But Actor had introduced Casino as his American associate Charles Colletti. Sir Reginald had inspected him critically from behind wire-rimmed glasses and apparently found him acceptable to dine at his table. Must've been the red tie, Casino figured.

At the head of the table, the nobleman himself presided over the meal, with his henchmen silently coming and going, as their boss and Actor carried on polite conversation. Casino kept a close eye on those liveried houseboys. Neither had ever wandered far from Sir Reginald all evening. While they didn't look threatening as they went about their serving duties, Casino had noticed immediately that both were packing heat under their waistcoats, as was the butler who'd greeted them at the door. Evidently being a wealthy English nobleman was a dangerous business.

He followed Actor's lead on which fork to use, but otherwise decided to stay out of the conversation. He didn't have much to add on the subject of the state of the English theater or the superiority of Italian wines. He just enjoyed the rich meal and whatever it was the armed houseboy kept pouring into his glass.

Across the table from him, illuminated by the flickering light from the silver candelabras, Actor had changed into someone Casino had only caught glimpses of before. He'd seen Actor in his role as the stern, commanding SS officer who made Kraut soldiers quake in their jackboots, and he'd dealt with Count Emilio Gianetti, the suave Italian playboy with a weakness for games of chance. But Vittorio Fabretti was yet another character altogether - a somewhat foppish but sleazy art lover with underworld connections. It was a little disturbing how Actor could pull these personalities out of his hip pocket on a moment's notice and totally transform himself.

Actor sipped the last of his wine, genteelly dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin, then folded it carefully next to his glass. "My compliments to your chef, Reggie. It is a treat to have such a sumptuous meal in these difficult times."

"And it is a pleasure to be doing business with you again, Vittorio." Sir Reginald smiled and finished his coffee before standing and summoning one of his henchmen. "We'll have our brandy in my private study, Robert. Then please see that we're not disturbed."

Robert nodded and went to fetch the brandy.

Sir Reginald lead the way out of the dining room and down a long marble hallway that was adorned with more old oil portraits than their entire mansion back at the base. As they passed, Casino wondered if they were all Cordray ancestors, or if they were just random old Brits on display for show. He stifled the sarcastic comment that immediately came to mind.

At the far end of the hallway on the right, Reginald pulled out a ring of antique keys and unlocked the door. "I allow very few people into my private sanctuary, but in light of our lucrative past dealings, I believe you'll be interested to see what I've done with my collection."

When Reginald flipped the light switch, the room it revealed was a virtual art gallery. All four walls displayed dozens of paintings, all in ornate gilded frames, all individually lit for the best effect. Under a particularly large landscape on the right wall, a long glass-fronted cabinet held numerous sparkling pieces of jewelry and several thick old books set open on little display stands. Four over-stuffed leather wing-backed chairs surrounded a low, round table in the center of the room, on which a Grecian urn full of fresh flowers sat. Their heavy scent mingled with the lingering odor of cigar smoke and old leather.

Actor strolled into the room, the cane that had never been more than a few inches from his hand all evening tapping lightly on the oriental carpet. He turned in a slow circle, admiring each of the art-covered walls, and his eyes settled on a portrait of a child sitting on a park bench. The awe was evident in his voice. "Is that Morisot's _Girl with Violets_? The last I heard, it was in the Musee D'Orsay."

"You know how chaotic the European art market is these days. But I have been able to acquire some magnificent pieces recently." Reginald took Actor's elbow and steered him toward a stormy landscape that was the centerpiece of the wall to their left. "This is my latest acquisition."

"Friedrich's _Black Forest Rains_ , I believe. A true treasure." Actor peered closely at it before turning to survey the rest of the room. "I see a lot of Romantic and Neoclassic works here, Reggie, but I thought you had become an aficionado of more modern styles."

Reginald glanced sideways at Actor, a knowing smile curling the corners of his mouth. "In these times it is difficult to come by the pieces that one really wants, despite my lucrative network."

Just then Robert entered the room carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy and three snifters. Sir Reginald directed him to set it on the low table. Robert poured a couple of fingers of the amber liquid into each glass, and with a sweep of his arm, Sir Reginald invited them to sit. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

Casino sank into the soft leather of the roomy wing chair and selected a cigar from a finely carved dark wood humidor that Robert offered. One sniff told him this wasn't like the smelly stogies his Uncle Joe smoked. With the cutter Robert handed him, Casino snipped the cap from the cigar, and when he put it between his lips, Robert leaned down to light it with a gold-plated lighter. The first puff was close to perfection. Following it with a sip of the brandy made it sublime.

Sir Reginald slowly released a cloud of smoke and addressed Actor. "So tell me, what have you been up to during these trying times? I thought I heard that you had run into some unpleasantness in the Colonies."

"Mere rumors, Reggie, I assure you." Actor took thoughtful puffs from his own cigar, letting the smoke curl around his head before continuing. "I hope you don't think me rude for jumping right into matters of business. But I believe you would be most anxious to examine what I have to offer this evening."

"Always the opportunist, eh, Vittorio?" The anticipation gleamed in Sir Reginald's eyes. "I knew you didn't come here just to enjoy my food and drink."

"Oh, on the contrary. I always enjoy your hospitality." Actor unscrewed the nob from the top of his walking stick and slid out the rolled up canvas, spreading it onto the table with a flourish. "And in gratitude for such a fine meal, I am offering this to you for first refusal, at an extraordinary price. If you do not find it to your liking, I have many other clients who would be thrilled to pay me what it's worth."

Sir Reginald's hands trembled slightly as he lifted the canvas and carried it over to study it under one of the lamps illuminating the large landscape. When he finally spoke, he'd managed to control his excitement. "Picasso is too prolific. He splashes out these little canvases every few days. I cannot believe they will be worth much in the future. Now, if this were one of his more important pieces..."

"Come, Reggie, Pablo is at the height of his talents. You know everything with his signature will be priceless after the war. I believe it would be an excellent addition to your collection, simply for its beauty alone. However, if you're not interested..."

"I did not say that, Vittorio." Sir Reginald returned to his chair and replaced the canvas on the table. "You're offering it at an 'extraordinary' price, you say...?"

Casino settled back and enjoyed his cigar and brandy as Reggie and Actor haggled over the price. Those two were throwing around ridiculous amounts of money for a letter-sized scrap of canvas with some paint splattered on it. Casino knew he'd never understand what these guys considered fine art, but he did know that Actor had promised him a cut of whatever he could get for the painting. After the good meal, the wine, and now the brandy, the gash across his left bicep had stopped throbbing, and he'd stopped thinking about what the Warden would say if he found out.

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When the transaction was complete, and money and artwork had changed hands, they'd said good night to Sir Reginald, and ridden in silence back to The Savoy. There was no need to discuss money or stolen art while in earshot of a cabbie. Once at the hotel, Actor climbed out of the cab and hurried inside, leaving Casino to pay the driver. Casino pealed off a few bills and slapped them into the man's hand, then pushed past the doorman and rushed across the vast lobby, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor. He caught up with Actor at the elevators, just as one was opening.

"Thanks a heap, babe," Casino huffed as the elevator operator slid the door closed. "You owe me extra for that."

Actor simply stared up at the floor indicator as it tracked the elevator's steady rise toward the third floor, tapping the head of his cane against his palm. When the operator pulled the door open, Casino followed Actor down the hall, catching him by the arm just as he reached his door. "Half, babe. That's what we agreed on."

"I don't recall agreeing to anything."

"Oh yeah you did, and you ain't backin' out on me now."

The lock clicked at the turn of Actor's key. "Do not worry, Casino, you'll get what's yours."

"You're damn right, 'cause if I don't, I'm sure the Warden'd be real interested in hearing..."

As Actor pushed the door open, there was Garrison, leaning back on the sofa with one leg crossed on the other knee. His eyes narrowed at them. "What would the Warden be interested in hearing?"

Smooth as silk, Actor didn't miss a beat. "About how much Mr. Colletti here thinks I had to drink tonight."

"Hey, where were you guys?" Goniff was stretched out on the bed, a cigarette bobbing between his lips. "Prob'ly drinkin' somethin' better'n the piss they serve at that ruddy pub."

Chief turned and stepped away from the window. "I don't recall you complainin' while you downed three mugs of the stuff."

"Well beggars can't be choosers, now can we, mate?"

Actor shrugged out of his suit jacket and tugged at the knot in his tie. "We've been making the rounds of my former purlieu. If the con is to work, I must make it known that Vittorio is back in business."

As Actor moved to the closet to hang up his jacket, Garrison continued to study him, head tilted, his mouth in a tight line, probably trying to figure out if Actor was hiding something. Casino knew it'd be hard to put one over on the Warden, but if anyone could, it'd be Actor.

Finally, with a sigh and a shake of his head, Garrison asked, "Any leads?"

Actor slipped into his smoking jacket and walked over to the well-stocked bar near the rooms' connecting door. "The buyer could be any one of my former clients, or he could be someone new to the market since I last did business here. Much has changed since the war began."

"Well, keep your eyes and ears open. And be careful, both of you." Garrison leaned forward and flicked the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. "Let's go over tomorrow night's plan."

"What's to go over?" Casino flopped into the cushy chair across the coffee table from Garrison. He was tired and just a little drunk, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. "So we meet this pirate guy and convince him to introduce us to the big boss. What's so hard about that?"

As usual, Garrison ignored his protests. "It's set for 2200. Actor, you, Casino and LaGrande will meet with the middleman. Chief, Goniff and I will keep an eye on the perimeter. Convince him that you have the painting in a safe place and you'll only deal with the buyer in person. Make that meeting for as soon as possible. We don't want to give these guys too much time to think about it."

"That should not be a problem." Actor selected a bottle of Scotch and poured some into a glass, then raised it in a salute to his commander. "As I have said, Vittorio Fabretti is very persuasive."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Garrison smirked.

"And _do_ we have the painting in a safe place?" Actor asked.

Garrison stood and picked up his worn green jacket from where it was draped over the arm of the sofa. He pulled a photograph from an inside pocket and handed it to Actor. "Here's a picture. I'll give you the real thing when the time comes."

"I hope it was removed from its frame with great care," Actor worried, studying the photograph. "It truly is priceless."

Goniff sat up and bounced off the bed. "Naw, he had Chiefy slice it out with his blade."

From the horror on Actor's face, you'd have thought he'd just been told they'd bombed the Louvre. "Warden, you didn't!"

"Of course not," Garrison huffed, giving Goniff a shove toward the door. "Enjoy your last night of luxury, guys, and try not to spend all of the Army's money."


	3. Chapter 3

The pub was busier on a Friday night than it had been the afternoon before, and the fog of cigarette smoke was even thicker, if that was possible. Some of the same old bar flies were there, but a crowd of younger men was blowing off steam in a noisy dart game. A couple of the guys who'd beat Goniff and Garrison at darts the day before waved from their corner table, but no one else paid much attention as they entered, except for Percy, who seemed to notice everything.

They stopped just inside the front door as Garrison looked around for a free table. Captain LaGrande leaned in to whisper, "I usually wait for The Pirate in a back room."

Garrison nodded. "Then the three of you better head back there. Just introduce Signore Fabretti and his aide, then let Actor do the talking. That's all you have to do."

"But what if he suspects something?"

"Let Actor worry about that. Your part will be done. And remember, Chief and I will be out here, and Goniff's in the alley watching the back door. So don't get any bright ideas about skipping out."

Swallowing hard and dabbing the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, LaGrande beckoned for Actor and Casino to follow him. Actor gave Garrison a wink and a reassuring smile before heading off after LaGrande. The Warden frowned as he watched them wind their way through the crowd.

"The fisherman's a little edgy, but Actor's got this," Chief reassured him.

Garrison shook his head. "Something's off."

"Whaddaya mean 'off'?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it…" He finally huffed a sigh and turned toward the bar. "It's probably nothing. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

They were able to squeeze in between two smelly sailors at the far end, where they had a good view of the door into the back hallway. Garrison got Hannah's attention and ordered a couple of pints. She smiled at Chief as she set his in front of him and started to say something, but she was quickly called away by another sailor. That looked like a fresh cut on her chin. Chief didn't believe for a second that she'd run into another door.

Turning to face the crowd, Chief rested his elbows back on the bar. He attempted a sip from his mug, but the swill was still undrinkable. He set the mug on the bar behind him and watched the dart game. It was getting aggressive. If it turned into a brawl, this could get interesting.

The front door flew open and banged against the wall, blowing in a draft of fresh, damp night air. This time everyone turned to see who was coming in. The guy stood looking out over the room like he was king of the world, and the dart fight grew silent. The newcomer was dressed head to toe in black and wore what looked like a floppy cowboy hat with a mangy feather stuck in the band. He shouted a greeting to the dart players, and when he turned to head for the bar, Chief saw the black patch that covered his right eye and the vicious scar that sliced down his cheek all the way to his chin. The only thing missing was a parrot on his shoulder. Chief nudged the Warden, but Garrison had already seen him.

"Must be our middle man," Garrison whispered.

As the pirate stood at the other end of the bar chatting with Percy, Chief watched out of the corner of his eye. There was something oddly familiar about him. When Hannah moved down to that end, the pirate grabbed her by the front of her blouse and pulled her across the counter for a rough kiss. Chief fought the urge to rush down there and give the goon a lesson in manners, but he noticed that Hannah didn't resist.

Sudden recognition and a flash of adrenalin flooded Chief. It had been at that airbase in Italy a while back, after a mission. That's where he'd seen this guy. He'd had a casual conversation with him that night, but back then the guy had just been a British Army private who was pining for his girl back home. Then he'd shown Chief a picture of his sweetheart. It was Hannah. That kid at the air base, Hannah's fiancé Jonny, was now standing at the end of the bar joking with his buddies, and had taken up a new trade in art smuggling. Now Hannah's black eye and bruises made disturbing sense.

Chief shoved away from the bar and headed for the other side of the room, in case Jonny had the same memory. That night in Italy, Jonny had identified Chief as one of the commandos who'd just returned from an covert mission. If Jonny saw him here now, the ball game was over.

Garrison followed and caught him by the arm. "What's wrong?"

"He knows me."

"Knows you? How?" Garrison pushed him into a corner where a table had just opened up, and pulled out two chairs.

Although it set every nerve on edge, Chief took the chair facing the wall, with his back to the room, and explained as simply as he could.

Garrison kept one eye on Pirate Jonny. "Okay, don't let him see you. By the time we're ready to take down the whole ring, it won't matter where he knows you from. You're sure he doesn't know Actor or Casino?"

"I dunno. I don't think so. Unless he ran into them that night, too."

Garrison sighed and leaned back in his chair. "All we can do is wait and see how this plays out."

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Percy apparently ran a multi-faceted enterprise here, Casino realized. The windowless room LaGrande led them to was set up for all kinds of activities that might require some privacy. The bed against the left wall looked like it'd been recently used, the yellowed sheets tangled and trailing on the floor. The ragged green felt surface of the table in the middle of the room was stained and scarred with cigarette burns. Several ashtrays overflowed with butts, and a dog-eared deck of cards lay where it had been tossed in the middle. On a cabinet next to the bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat next to several glasses. The first thing LaGrande did was head for the booze and pour himself a generous drink.

Actor pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table. "Relax, Maurice. All he can do is turn us down."

"You do not know this Pirate, monsieur. He is a mean one." LaGrande paced the room like a caged animal, sweating from every pore. "What if he is armed?"

"So are we." Casino pulled his jacket back far enough for LaGrande to see his shoulder holster.

"I still do not like it." LaGrande turned and stalked back across the room, taking another gulp of the whiskey and looking at his watch. "He should be here any minute."

Leaning against the wall facing the door, Casino let his jacket hang open for quick access to the Beretta. It'd be good for this pirate guy to know he was armed, too — keep the odds even.

They didn't have to wait long. The guy swept into the room without knocking, slamming the door behind him. He stopped short when he saw the strangers. "What's goin' on?" he growled at LaGrande, his hand hovering near the bulge in his pocket. "Who are these blokes?"

Actor didn't bother to stand, but casually flipped a hand. "I am Vittorio Fabretti, and this is my associate, Charles Colletti. And you are…?"

"Never mind who I am. What are you doing here?"

LaGrande stepped forward. "There has been a…complication," he stammered. "Our regular supplier is no longer in a position…"

"He has met with some unfortunate circumstances, I am afraid," Actor cooly informed him. "You and your superiors will be dealing with me from now on."

The Pirate's single eye narrowed to a slit, and his hand slipped into that bulging pocket. Casino pushed away from the wall, slipping his own hand under his jacket to rest on his Beretta.

"Charles, please…" Actor waved Casino off. "We are here to conduct business. There is no need for weaponry." He motioned politely for the Pirate to sit. When the guy remained standing, glaring at him, Actor shrugged and took his pipe from his jacket pocket.

"So what happened to the other bloke?" the Pirate demanded.

"Let's just say he lost favor with his superiors and faced the consequences. Despite that disturbing turn of events, there are still many fine pieces of art available to your employer at quite reasonable prices." Actor paused to let that information sink in as he lit his pipe. He slipped his lighter back into his pocket and continued. "As a token of good faith, I have one very special piece that I'm willing to let go at a remarkably low price." Another pause and a puff, then Actor looked up at The Pirate. "However, I must negotiate with the buyer in person."

"He don't get his hands dirty that way. That's why he's got me."

"Ah, that is too bad." Actor rose to his full imposing height and looked down his nose at the guy. "Then it looks like this lucrative partnership has come to an end. It is a shame, really. I'm sure your employer would have been most excited to come into possession of this particular piece. Ones of this importance and quality so rarely appear on the market." He beckoned to Casino. "Come Charles, let's not waste any more of this gentleman's time. There are others who will jump at the opportunity to make a bid."

The Pirate stepped in front of Actor to block his exit. "Wait, not so fast. What's so special about this one?"

"I'm sorry. If I cannot speak with the buyer in person, there is nothing else to discuss."

"He's gonna be real unhappy when I come back empty-handed. Where's the piece? You got it on ya?"

Actor huffed a laugh. "Of course not."

"Well, he's gonna wanna know more about it before he agrees to anything. What am I s'pose to tell him?"

From his shirt pocket, Actor pulled out the color photo and handed it to the Pirate. "Just show him this. He will understand its significance. My name and the number where I can be reached are on the back. He has until noon tomorrow to contact me. After that, the painting goes on the open market."

Actor headed for the door with LaGrande close behind him, trying to shield himself from the Pirate. Casino followed, giving the guy his best threatening glare. "Nice doin' business with ya, babe."

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After the Pirate headed for his meeting in the back, Chief allowed himself to turn and face the bar to watch Hannah. He was hidden in the Friday night crowd, in a darkened corner far enough away from the bar and the back door to be nearly invisible. And Garrison didn't say anything, so he relaxed a little.

This wasn't the Hannah he knew, who'd flitted around The Doves with a radiant smile for everyone, fending off grabby GI's with grace and confidence. Her light was gone. She moved like her stained apron weighed a ton, like every muscle hurt. Maybe it was this dark place, so different from the bright liveliness of The Doves. Maybe it was just London and the war and her wounded boyfriend. But the truth was that it probably had more to do with the cuts and bruises on her face. And those were just the ones he could see.

They didn't have to wait long before Actor, Casino and LaGrande returned through the back hallway door and headed in their direction. It probably wasn't a good sign that the meeting had broken up so fast.

Garrison stood to meet them as they approached the table. "How'd it go?"

"With a little gentle persuasion, he took the bait," Actor smiled. "I gave him until noon tomorrow."

As Actor and Garrison talked, Chief watched Hannah take another round of drinks to the pack of dart players. They were drunk and getting rowdier, and he was wondering if he needed to step in to rescue her when the hallway door swung open again. Pirate Jonny stood with his hands on his hips, and glowered out at the room with murder burning in his good eye. He stared first at the three he'd just been negotiating with, who were probably the target of his anger, but then his frown turned on Hannah and the group of dart players giving her a hard time.

"Get away from them, you slut. I've had enough of your whoring…". He stepped in and grabbed Hannah by the hair, yanking her from the middle of the group, then swung back and bashed her open-handed across the face. She hurtled into a table and tumbled to the floor.

Hannah's sharp cry was the only spark Chief needed. He was across the room, knife in hand, before he realized he'd leapt from his chair. He grabbed a fist-full of Jonny's black shirt and pressed the blade hard against his windpipe, ready to draw blood…

"Chief, stop it!" Garrison clamped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

Jonny took the advantage. His fist slammed Chief in the side of the face. Stars exploded in his head. He lost his balance and fell back into Garrison. The blade slipped from his hand, skittering across the floor. He quickly regained his footing and lunged for Jonny, but he was grabbed from behind before he could make contact. In front of him, Casino and one of the dart players had a hold on a seething Jonny. Percy was helping Hannah to her feet.

As Jonny strained against his captors and glared at Chief, his brows pulled together. "I know you…from Italy…you're that spy bloke…"

"And you're the scumbag that gets his kicks beatin' on women…" Chief fought to pull from Garrison's tight grip on his arms.

Jonny shifted his gaze to Actor, then back at Casino, who still had his arm twisted up behind him, and realization dawned. "And your two…you ain't no art dealers…you're with him."

Percy had settled Hannah into a chair and chose that moment to push between them. "Outside, all a ya. I'll brook no brawlin' in me pub."

Garrison released his hold on Chief, shoving him toward Actor, and nodded to Casino. "Get them both out of here."

Pirate Jonny struggled to pull loose, shouting something about being kidnapped, but Casino ignored him as he hustled him toward the front door. There was no use resisting Actor as he pushed Chief in the same direction. At least they were getting the bastard away from Hannah. Chief's last glimpse of her was of her bruised, tear-streaked face, and her emerald eyes watching him leave.

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The cramped room on the second floor of the Mariner's Rest Hotel was stifling. The only air through the open window was heavy with the stench of garbage and the river. Aside from the two narrow beds, there was only one flimsy chair, which Actor had taken. Goniff had flopped onto the bed that had been his for the last couple of nights. Chief sat on his own bed, leaning back against the headboard, holding a bandana full of ice against his bruised cheekbone. The side of his face was numb, and cold water dribbled down his arm. Any minute the Warden would be back from turning Pirate Jonny over to the Army, and Chief wasn't looking forward to facing the music.

Casino had stripped out of his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves, and he now sat at the foot of Chief's bed in front of the window, trying to catch a breeze. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke toward the window. "So that's Hannah's boyfriend, huh. I sure wouldn't'a pegged him as her type."

"Yeah, small world, ain't it, you runnin' into him at that air base." Goniff added his own cloud of smoke to the thick air. "Think he knows about you and Hannah?"

"How should I know." Chief wadded up the soaked bandana and tossed it toward the wash basin on the dresser.

"The Warden certainly isn't pleased with this turn of events." The chair squeaked as Actor shifted. "He was our only means of access to the smuggling ring."

Casino shrugged. "Well, not the ONLY one..."

Actor's head snapped up. "Casino..."

"I'm just sayin'...if your pal Reggie ain't in on it, I bet ya dollars to doughnuts he knows who is."

"Casino..." Actor growled again, through gritted teeth.

"Who's Reggie?" A glimmer of hope flared as Chief realized the mission might still be saved in spite of his foul-up.

Casino crushed out his cigarette on the sill and flicked it through the window. "He's this guy Actor used to sell hot art to. We saw him yesterday..."

"Casino is mistaken," Actor snapped. "While Sir Reginald often does not question the provenance of the art he collects, he would not lower himself to deal with the likes of the Pirate. Or the Nazis, for that matter."

"If you say so," Casino shrugged. "I still bet he knows somethin'…"

Through the room's thin walls, Chief heard footsteps coming down the hall. He bolted upright and raised a hand for silence.

Garrison strode through the door and closed it firmly behind him. When he turned, he frowned at them, obviously sensing the tension in the room.

Actor broke the odd silence. "So the Pirate's locked up in the brig?"

"Yeah. He won't be seeing the light of day for a while." Garrison glared at each of them, then his eyes came to rest on Chief. "Now let's talk about what went wrong."

Chief stood, squarely confronting his commander. "You saw what he did to her..."

"You disobeyed orders."

"Goddam right I did. That ain't the first time he hit her."

Garrison took a breath and let it out in a sigh, reaching across to lay a hand on Chief's shoulder. "I know. Orders or not, you did the right thing. Now we just have to figure out where we go from here."

"Warden..." Actor rose and stepped forward, shooting a warning glance at Casino. "We have effectively ended the smuggling ring by eliminating the middle men. Perhaps we should take that as a win and move on."

"No," Garrison snapped. "The buyer will just set up a new pipeline. We have to find another way to identify him. I'm going to interrogate Pirate Jonny in the morning. He knows more than he's telling us. Meanwhile, Actor, you keep working on your contacts, in case we can't convince Jonny to give up his boss."

"Of course," Actor conceded with another quick look at Casino. "I'm sure someone will know something."


	4. Chapter 4

With his superiors in the interrogation room with him, Garrison had refrained from the tactics he normally would've used when questioning an adversary. He didn't consider Jonny any different from any other Nazi collaborator, but he knew Major Richards and Major Johns might feel differently about terrorizing a British soldier who'd been injured on the battlefield.

But no strong-arm measures were needed. After he'd explained to the young man, in straight-forward, graphic detail, the punishment for treason, Jonny had been trembling and close to tears. He denied knowing who the European supplier was or that the proceeds were being funneled to the enemy. He claimed that he was just a messenger and didn't even know the name of his boss, the man he delivered the art to. Garrison was inclined to believe him. Jonny had begged for mercy and eagerly agreed to contact his boss and try to arrange for a meeting with Signore Fabretti. After the call was made and the meeting scheduled for that evening, Garrison spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the sting. It had been a long day, but by early evening, the thrill of the end-game was buzzing in his veins. He sat on the sofa next to Casino, watching him deftly attach the tiny wires to the microphone.

Casino replaced the fancy gilded shade on the lamp and adjusted it evenly. "Ya see, the wire from the mike gets hidden by the wire from the lamp. You'll be able to hear clear as a bell in the next room, and nobody'll suspect a thing."

"You're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure!"

Garrison looked up at the other three members of his team lounging on the comfortable furniture around the private parlor of The Savile Club. The doorman of the exclusive gentlemen's club had been reluctant to grant entry to Goniff and Chief, who looked like they'd just walked off the deck of a fishing trawler. Garrison had shown the man his orders from General Fremont and had to promise to keep the two away from any members. Actor, however, looked as if he were born to this life, sitting in the red velvet, high-backed wing chair, sipping Scotch and puffing on his pipe, his tie and pocket square a perfectly matched set of burgundy silk. The Monet painting sat between them on the coffee table, rolled up in a metal tube.

A quick glance at his watch told Garrison the buyer would be arriving in half an hour. "Remember, get him to admit to as much as possible. But all we really need for him to say is that he knows he's been doing business with the Nazis."

"Not to worry, Warden." Actor flashed his cockiest grin. "Vittorio will have him singing like a canary."

Garrison considered his conman for a brief moment. That uneasy itch had returned, telling him there was something he was missing. "Your over-confidence is not reassuring me," he admitted.

Actor's smile disappeared as he sat forward and set his pipe on the ashtray, his brow furrowing. "I will do my best, Lieutenant."

"I know you will. And we'll be recording everything." He dismissed the itch and stood to gather his uniform jacket and cap. "Chief, Goniff, let's head next door and double check that bug."

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The adjoining parlor was as cozy and intimate as the one they'd just left, but decorated in shades of blue instead of red. Garrison settled himself onto the plush sofa in front of the collection of wires, speakers and recording equipment that Casino had set up earlier on the coffee table. He flipped a switch and adjusted the volume knob, generating a low static hiss.

"All this spyin's makin' me a mite dry. We outta get some refreshment delivered while we wait," Goniff suggested as he wandered the room opening drawers and examining cabinets. From the top of a credenza, he picked up a delicate porcelain figurine of a dancing girl.

"Put it back."

"Just admiring it, Warden…" Goniff quickly replaced the dancer and continued his circuit of the room.

Chief had settled onto the window seat that looked out onto the courtyard and garden. "It's awful quiet next door. Think that thing's workin'?"

"I'm not sure…" Garrison checked that all the wires were securely attached. He was about to try the volume knob again when the speaker crackled. He heard glass clink and what sounded like someone pouring a drink.

Then Casino's voice came through, clear as a bell, just as the safe cracker had promised. "So, who do ya think's gonna walk through that door?"

Was that a challenge he heard in Casino's tone? Without being able to see his face or his posture, Garrison couldn't tell.

"As I said, it could be any one of my former clients or someone I've never met before." That was definitely the hard edge of a warning he heard in Actor's reply.

The sound of ice clattering into another glass and more liquid being poured got Goniff's attention. "Hey, if they're drinkin', why can't we?"

From the speaker came the sharp rap of someone knocking on the door, and Garrison held up a hand, shushing Goniff. He started the tape rolling and concentrated on the activity in the next room.

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Actor was certain he knew who the buyer was. He'd been going over in his mind the best ways to keep this meeting focused on the Monet the man now wanted and away from the Picasso Actor had sold him on Thursday night. It would not do to have the Warden hear, much less record, the details of that earlier transaction. This was going to be a delicate dance.

The knock on the door was sharp and insistent. The buyer was early, perhaps trying to throw him off balance and get an upper hand, Actor mused. It was an effective strategy he'd frequently used himself. He took a sip of the well-aged Scotch and motioned for Casino to open the door.

The safe cracker unbuttoned his jacket for ready access to the Beretta, then pulled the door open. With a dramatic sweep of an arm, he invited their visitors to enter and then turned to Actor with that I-told-you-so smirk as Sir Reginald Cordray and his well-armed houseboy Robert entered.

Sir Reginald paused, and his face split in a wide grin as he shook his head. "Vittorio! I should have known, after our profitable dinner the other night. Who else would be able to take advantage of this conflict so effectively."

"Reggie, my dear friend, please come in. May I fix you a drink?"

"Thank you. That would be fine." Sir Reginald stepped over to the chair Actor had vacated and took a seat while Robert positioned himself by the door. Casino took up his own strategic position, leaning against the wet bar where he could keep an eye on Robert.

Sir Reginald idly flicked a speck of lint from his jacket sleeve. "I am surprised you are a member here. I would have thought that The White's would be more your style."

"Far too snobbish for my taste." Actor poured a generous helping of Scotch into a tumbler, then turned and smiled as he handed it to Reginald. "Now The Arts Club would have been more auspicious if it had not suffered so badly under Herr Hitler's blitz."

"Ah, yes, such a tragedy," Reggie lamented, not a hint of remorse in his tone. "I'm sure they will rebuild."

As the nobleman sipped his Scotch, he eyed Actor over the rim of his glass, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. He finally leaned back, swirling the ice in his glass. "My errand boy tells me that my original supplier has experienced some misfortune. Do you know what happened?"

Actor knew this part of the con would be tricky. He had no idea how much Reggie might know about this mysterious supplier, so he had to be as vague as possible while still appearing knowledgeable. He took a seat in the matching wing chair facing Reggie, letting concern cloud his features. "I do not have all of the details, but I am told his superiors lost confidence in him. Since I have the necessary connections, they engaged me to continue his work."

"What on earth could he have done?" Reggie wondered. "I thought things were going so well."

"I did not ask. I'm not sure I want to know."

Reggie just shook his head. "I probably don't have to warn you, Vittorio, these are not people you want to cross. If you took it upon yourself to freelance, and that little Picasso you fleeced me for the other night is part of this shipment, then you are walking a very fine line, indeed, my friend."

Inwardly, Actor cringed, imagining Garrison's reaction to that information. Outwardly, he presented a confident smile and changed the subject, picking up the tube from the table in front on him. "As a matter of fact, this shipment is mostly inconsequential and uninteresting. But I have the real gem right here, straight from the collection of one of Austria's most prominent Jewish families."

"Ah, yes. From my messenger boy's description, I think I can guess what this might be." Sir Reginald was practically salivating as he reached for the tube. "The Germans are doing the world a favor by liberating these treasures from the clutches of those Shylocks. I'm proud to be a small part of the effort. One day I'll be able to show off my collection proudly."

Reginald slid the painting from its tube and carefully spread it on the coffee table. A vague twinge of nausea bubbled up as Actor watched this man touch such a masterpiece. There had been a time, not that long ago, when the morals and personal politics of his marks had made little difference to him. They were simply victims, a means to an end, a challenge to be conquered. He was not sure what had changed, or when, but now was not the time to ponder it. He leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of the Scotch, trying to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.

The clock on the mantle ticked softly in the still room as Reginald scrutinized the painting, maybe looking for tell-tale signs of a forgery, or simply admiring its beauty. Actor heard Casino shift nervously behind him, probably wondering the same thing he was. What was Garrison waiting for? Sir Reginald just admitted to being a willing part of the Germans' plundering. Maybe the Warden needed something more incriminating.

Actor assumed his best nonchalant attitude. "That exquisite Morisot portrait you showed me the other night used to hang in the Musee D'Orsay. I know the Nazis are confiscating the belongings of Jews and other 'undesirables', but I was not aware they were looting Paris's museums as well."

Not looking up from the painting, Reginald snorted a derisive laugh. "Those Nazis cretans have no clue about fine art. To them it simply represents wealth, to be hoarded or turned into tanks and airplanes…" He paused, the mental puzzle pieces snapping into place. He scowled as his eyes came up to meet Actor's. "You say Herr Hofer brought you in to take over? And yet he has not trusted you with the source of these art works?"

Walter Hofer. Actor knew the man by reputation only. Hermann Göring's personal art dealer and freelance looter. So this smuggling ring reached high into the Nazi command. Actor thought fast. "I have not yet met Herr Hofer personally…"

Reginald stood abruptly, rolling up the Monet and shoving it back into its cylinder. Robert reacted to his boss's alarm, stepping away from the door, his pistol instantly in his hand. Behind him, Actor heard Casino go for his own gun. He waved him off, not wanting to start a fire fight before Garrison had a chance to move in.

From the small holster clipped to his belt, Sir Reginald pulled his own Derringer and leveled it at Actor's chest. "I also should have known that you are not to be trusted," he snarled. "Now we'll need to finish this discussion somewhere more private. Get up. Let's go. Both of you."

Reginald waggled his gun in the direction the door, and Actor rose from his chair, trying to stall. "You misunderstand, Reggie. My reputation within the Reich is irreproachable…"

The door burst open behind Robert. Before he could react, Chief had the man's arm twisted behind him and the blade's lethal edge pressed against his throat. Reggie swung around at the sudden disturbance, only to be confronted by Garrison with a gun pointed at his head. The Warden took advantage of Reggie's momentary confusion to relieve him of his weapon. "Goniff, search them."

Reginald stepped back as Goniff came toward him, tugging the creases from his jacket and straightening his tie. "Sir, you misunderstand. I am Sir Reginald Cordray, Fourth Earl of Dalesford. These are the men you want." He waved dismissively at Actor and Casino. "They have been trying to sell me stolen art work."

"And you've been eagerly buying," Garrison agreed, pulling two pair of hand cuffs from his belt. He handed one pair to Goniff, who took them to cuff Robert. He holstered his own weapon and approached Sir Reginald with the second pair.

Indignantly trying to resist, the nobleman threatened, "You are making a grievous mistake, Lieutenant. I have friends in high places. You'll quickly find yourself in a foxhole on the Italian front."

"I have no doubt." Garrison snapped the cuffs in place and pushed Sir Reginald toward Goniff. "Take them down through the kitchen. There'll be MP's waiting at the rear entrance. I'll meet you there. Casino, clear out the recording equipment."

Goniff and Chief herded their captives out the door, Reggie's continuing protests fading down the hallway. With a wary glance back at Actor, Casino also left to do as he was ordered.

Actor took a breath and smiled at his commander. "Your timing could have been a bit more precise."

The hard glare he received in return and the ice in Garrison's tone sent a chill through him. "You have some explaining to do."

"Warden, if you'll let me clarify…"

"Later," Garrison snapped. "And it better be good." Then he turned and strode down the hall after Chief and Goniff.

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Chief figured he probably wouldn't be missed for a while. He'd slipped out of the hotel while the other three were deep in an argument about Actor's side business. Garrison had gone to HQ with the prisoners — who knew when he'd be back. They weren't returning to the mansion until sometime the next day. Chief planned to be back well before then.

The pub would close soon, but there were still a few hard-core drinkers hanging out before final call. Chief had eased in so quietly that no one noticed except Percy, who'd glared at him briefly, then returned to wiping down the bar. He'd thought Hannah might still be here, but he didn't see her anywhere, so he approached the bartender.

"If it's trouble you're bringin', I don't want none of it," Percy threatened. "Neither does she."

"I just wanna talk. Is she here?"

"What happened to Jonny? I heard rumors."

"Is she here?" Chief repeated, more firmly this time.

"Aye, she's here. She ain't got no place else." The man's expression softened some as he motioned for Chief to follow him toward the back hallway. When they reached the door, Percy stopped and whispered, "I know what that rotter's been doin' to her. And you stood up for her. Maybe she'll listen to you."

Percy pushed the door open and waved him through, but didn't follow, and the door swished closed behind him.

From the room down the hall, Chief heard a chair scrape on the wood floor, and Hannah called, "I'll be right out, Percy. I just need a minute…"

When he got to the doorway, she was sitting with her back to him at a green felt-covered card table, with a half-empty mug of beer in front of her.

"Can't recommend that swill myself," he cautioned quietly.

She turned, startled. The newest bruise on her cheek was still red, turning purple at the edges. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She swiped a sleeve across her runny nose. "Where's Jonny? Is he alright?"

"He's where he can't hurt you anymore."

She stood and rushed to him, grabbing his hands. "I won't press any charges. I'll find the bail money someplace. Maybe Percy'll lend it to me. He just gets so angry sometimes and he can't help himself…"

"Hey," he cut off her babbling. "He's got no right to hit you."

She sank back into the chair. "You don't understand. He doesn't really mean it. Since he got home, he's not the same. It's like they flipped some kind of switch and turned him into somebody else. He has nightmares, he can't sleep, he can't keep a job…"

"He was doin' alright for himself."

"That's it, isn't it?" Hannah rubbed her eyes hard with the heels of her hands. "Where the money's coming from. He's done something illegal, hasn't he?" New tears began to flow, and she stifled a sob. "Will I be able to visit him in jail? He really needs me now..."

"I dunno..."

"He's just trying to get by, trying to take care of me and his mum. It's been really hard…"

Chief didn't know what he'd expected when he'd decided to come here. He'd wanted to let her know what happened so she didn't have to be afraid anymore. He wanted to make her laugh again. He wanted the old Hannah back. He wanted HIS Hannah back.

But she wanted the old Jonny back. Now neither of those things were going to happen. He'd thought he'd always understood that she belonged to someone else. But now he knew it to his very core. Like he'd told the Warden, she wasn't HIS anything.

As she quietly cried, he couldn't bring himself to touch her, even to lay a hand on her shoulder. He was just a complication for her now. Instead, he reached for her beer and took a swallow, to clear his throat. "If you need me, you know where to find me," he muttered, then turned and walked out of her life.

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Garrison didn't bother to knock on the hotel room door. It didn't matter if he woke them. He needed to confront this right now, while he was still seething, still angry enough. He found three of them awake and still dressed, and they stood as he slammed the door behind him.

"Where's Chief?"

"He, ah, disappeared, Warden…" Goniff stuttered. "You know Chiefy…"

He scowled at the floor, letting that new layer of frustration sink in. But he knew where Chief had gone. So he unleashed his wrath on his con man. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"It was merely a means to an end, Lieutenant," Actor began. "Offering the little Picasso for sale was a strategy for establishing my credibility…"

"Oh, really? And when were you going to tell me about it?"

"I realize it was an impulsive idea, but…"

Garrison turned on Casino. "And what about you? What did he offer you to go along with this scheme?"

Actor stepped forward, cutting off whatever Casino was about to say. "Warden, Casino had nothing to do with this."

It only added to his irritation that he couldn't tell if Actor was lying. When Casino opened his mouth to say something, Actor interrupted again. "He only went along with it to maintain the con."

Garrison caught the surprised look Casino gave Actor. He didn't believe for a second that Casino was entirely innocent. But his real grievance was with Actor. Trying to bring his anger under control, he turned on Goniff. "Go find Chief."

"But I ain't got no idea where…"

"You can probably guess. Now go! And take Casino with you."

"Yeah, a'right…" Goniff mumbled and snatched up his jacket, in a hurry to get out as fast as he could. Silently, with only a brief glance back at Actor, Casino rushed after him.

When the door closed behind them, Garrison again faced his con man. "You broke the law. I can't let that slide."

"But Lieutenant," Actor smiled, "the Picasso was worthless. A forgery."

"I don't care if it was a child's crayon drawing. It wasn't yours to sell."

"Well, when you put it that way…."

Garrison studied the man standing calmly in front of him, the man he had come to regard as his second in command. The man who, under any other circumstances, he would gladly call friend. His initial fury had abated but the disappointment still stung. "You know this violates your contract. I could have you back inside Alcatraz by Monday."

"Over a poorly rendered Picasso knock-off? Warden, I don't think…"

"Obviously you didn't think! It's not about the painting. It's not about the money." His anger bubbled over again, and he pulled in deep breath. "It's about trust."

At this, Actor looked genuinely taken aback. "You know I'd never do anything to compromise a mission. If Reggie hadn't turned out to be the ring leader, this little side transaction wouldn't have made a ripple."

"That's beside the point. You went behind my back. Kept vital information from me. For what? To make a few bucks? How do I know that the next time you decide to go it alone something else won't get fouled up? And get somebody killed?"

Actor shifted his weight, studied the carpet, then cleared this throat and looked him squarely in the eye, his quiet voice betraying sincere contrition. "You're right, Lieutenant. I'm sorry. I did not anticipate the unintended consequences. It won't happen again. You have my word."

Garrison thought he'd gotten to know the man well enough to tell when he was conning, but now he doubted if that were even possible. Seeing Actor now, he realized he just hadn't fully comprehended what made the man tick. He was a con artist in a world where the law was merely an academic concept. He played by a different set of rules. He couldn't resist an easy mark. He needed the game the same way other men needed alcohol or the craps table. It's what made him feel alive, what got his blood racing. It was a talent — one that Garrison needed. And valued. But the man behind the talent wasn't going to change. Somehow, he'd just have to deal with all the other inconvenient baggage that made Actor the best con artist in the trade.

Sitting back on the arm of the sofa, Garrison folded his arms across his chest, the dissipation of his earlier anger leaving him feeling drained. "How much did you get for it?"

"£3,000," the con man muttered.

"What happened to the money?"

From an inside jacket pocket, Actor pulled out a manilla envelope and handed it over. "It's all there."

"You didn't have to give any to Casino?" Garrison flipped through the bills, quickly counting thirty £100 notes.

"Truthfully, Warden, this was my game. Casino had no part in it."

Garrison knew Casino just as well, if not better, than he knew Actor. Certainly there was a white lie in that statement somewhere. But he had to admire the loyalty behind it. All he said was, "The money's going to the Free French Government."

"Of course, that was the intention all along…"

"I'm sure it was." He pushed away from the sofa, accepting that white lie as well, and headed for the door. It had been a long day. His head was starting to pound, and his lumpy bed in the room down the hall beckoned. "We'll talk about appropriate punishment tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

The infirmary was deserted, and the medic who was suppose to be on duty was nowhere to be found. But a locked cabinet was never a problem. Even though Casino didn't have the spring steel with him, a random paper clip could always do the trick, and he knew which cabinet stored the APC tablets. The same cabinet secured a supply of morphine, too, but his head didn't hurt that much. And the gash on his left arm had stopped hurting days ago. Shoving a few bottles aside, he found the one he was looking for. He shook a couple of pills out into his palm and tossed them back, swallowing hard. A shot of the good bourbon he had stashed under his mattress would help, too.

After today's intensive training session on coded messaging, Chief and Goniff had headed straight for the mess hall and dinner, but all Casino wanted was a little peace and quiet. All those dots, dashes, jumbled numbers and letters seemed too much like math, and math had always made his head hurt.

As he climbed the mansion's granite front steps, he thought about how unusually quiet the halls had seemed over the last week. He, Chief and Goniff had been transported from London back to the mansion, but Garrison and Actor had stayed behind at HQ. The Warden had muttered something about paperwork and a special assignment, but had been skimpy on the details. Casino wondered if it had anything to do with the scam Actor had tried to pull. He hadn't had a chance to confront Actor about taking the fall, nor had he had the opportunity to explain his part in it to Garrison. After several days he'd begun to worry that Actor wouldn't be coming back, and that weighed heavy on him.

As he pushed the big oaken door closed behind him and headed for the stairs and their dormitory, he heard a rustle of papers in the library to his left. Curious, he stepped over to the archway to investigate. Actor was sitting at the long reading table in the center of the room, shuffling through a stack of photographs, with a large book open beside him.

"Hey, you're back!" The wave of relief that swept through him was unexpected. "I was beginnin' to think they'd shipped you back to Alcatraz."

Actor barely glanced up from his work. "Fortunately, that option was overruled."

"Wait, I was kiddin'. You mean the Warden was really thinkin' of sending you back?" That was a sobering thought. Casino often wondered what he'd do if faced with being sent back to Leavenworth, but he'd never considered the Warden actually going through with it.

Actor continued to study the photographs, jotting notes on a pad of paper. "Never doubt the Lieutenant's resolve. It's not an empty threat."

His headache forgotten, Casino dropped into the chair on the other side of the table. "Listen, about what you did…"

"It was an impulsive and foolish gamble. I will think twice about attempting anything similar in the future."

"Yeah, a'course…but I mean about you tellin' the Warden I wasn't in on it. Why'd ya do that?"

Actor set his pen down on top of the pad and looked Casino in the eye. "It was my con. You were simply following my lead. Is it something you would have devised on your own?"  
"Yeah, sure…well, no…maybe, but…"

"I rest my case." Actor went back to scribbling notes.

Leaning back in the chair, Casino took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Anyway, listen…thanks…"

"You're welcome."

Still, Casino was curious. "So what've you been doin' all week?"

"Penance."

"Huh?"

Again, Actor set down his pen. He hesitated, as if reluctant to explain. Finally he said, "My indiscretion was not without consequences. I've been tasked with investigating the provenance of all of Sir Reginald's collection, so everything can be returned to the rightful owners after the war."

"Hey, that ain't so bad, right?" Casino grinned. "You like that kinda stuff, and it might mean you won't have to go on so many missions."

"No, I will continue to participate in all missions. And my tenure with the Army has been extended."

Casino had to let that sink in. "Whaddaya mean extended?"

"The duration and a year."

"The duration and a year?! That ain't fair! Just for fencing a stupid painting? What about all the times you risked your life? All the times you pulled the Lieutenant out of hot water? Don't that count for nothin'?"

Closing the book and rising from his chair, Actor turned to replace it on the bookshelf behind him. "I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth, considering how much harsher the punishment could have been." He selected another oversized volume and returned to his chair. "The Lieutenant needs us and our skills, and that is the only reason neither of us is going back to prison."

In answer to Casino's quizzical look, he explained, "The man isn't stupid, Casino. In spite of my denials, he knows you were a willing participant."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"So if I were you, I would tread very carefully from now on. The next time, he won't be so lenient."

"Still, it don't seem fair…"

Setting his study aside for the moment, Actor pushed his chair back from the table. He pulled his pipe and tobacco pouch from his jacket pocket and took a minute to fill the bowl and light it. He took a puff and squinted through the tendrils of fragrant smoke. "After the war, I will be assigned to a team identifying and returning looted art."

"Ha! You? They're gonna trust you around all those pricey paintings?"

Actor frowned at the sarcastic slight, but then a small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "It does seem counterintuitive, doesn't it? However I am a renowned expert on the Renaissance."

Staring down at his pad of notes, Actor continued to puff thoughtfully on his pipe. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. "When I was sitting there across from Sir Reginald at the Savile Club, I had an epiphany." He glanced up at Casino. "That means…"

"I was raised Catholic. I know what it means."

"Yes, of course." Actor looked back down at this note pad. "It was as if I were looking into a mirror. And I did not like what I saw."

"Whaddaya mean? You ain't nothin' like Reggie. He don't give a rat's ass what's goin' on in the world, so long as he gets what he wants."

"Think about it, Casino. Is that not how we operated? Taking what we wanted without a thought for who might be hurt? Is that not what Herr Hitler is doing, only on a much larger scale?"

"Well, yeah, I guess, when you put it that way…" He'd avoided giving it too much thought back in New York, when his old pal Tony had scoffed at the idea of soldiers dying because gangs were making a profit on black market tires. But he'd experienced the same feeling. He'd been just like Tony once, but something had changed. Something fundamental had shifted inside him. And it was going to take a while for him to figure out exactly what that was. His eyes met Actor's. "Yeah, I think I know what ya mean."

Actor set his pipe aside in a nearby ashtray, and picking up his pen, returned to his work. "Don't tell the Warden, but I'm looking forward to my 'punishment'."

Casino huffed a laugh and rose from his chair, heading for the stairs and his bed. "I don't have to tell the Warden, babe. I'm sure he already knows."


End file.
